


A Hard Bargain

by ErlenmeyerKat



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Elven Glory, Elven house politics, Elven love, Multi, it's a trap!!!, oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 23:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30080202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErlenmeyerKat/pseuds/ErlenmeyerKat
Summary: Playing with a friend's OC. He's just too good a character to leave alone. Check out Ranaspel's stories, they're amazing!
Relationships: Fanathar Nareem / Ardale Tindall
Kudos: 1





	A Hard Bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ranaspel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranaspel/gifts).



“Now, now, I’m but a messenger. A signet ring with legs, if you will." Fanathar waved a hand negligently as the portly Grandmaster of the merchant house sized him up. The servants hurried to meet the caravan’s stewards, carrying the selected casks into the hall as Fanathar and Ardale, the family financier, followed Grandmaster Warner. 

They settled into the plush chairs in the middle of the hall, multiple parchments laid out on the ornate wooden table before them. Elven heartwood, the two noticed, a sign of elegance and opulence. But also an insult to them, as no human would have such a piece without blood being spilt, rich or not. Fan doubted the man knew it. Humans had so very short lives. Whomever had acquired it was likely long-dead. If not, there might be more interest from the Ancient Houses, though not the kind the Grandmaster would want. 

“The signet is welcome and so are you, Fanathar.” Warner’s tongue was silver at the very least. “The nobles have acquired a hunger for the rarer sparkling meads and eiswines. And I hear you know where to acquire the best.”

Fan tilted his head in the mimic of a modest bow, Ardale watching him from the corner of his eye as the financier gathered the parchment into a tidy stack. The blonde elf couldn’t keep the amused twist from the corner of his mouth as he started reviewing the numbers, green eyes dancing.

“You flatter me, Grandmaster,” Fanathar straightened once more, the smooth black curtain of his hair shifting back from his sharp, angular features. All elves of the high families had the same large eyes, the same narrow features, but his dark hair was a rarity, the teal of his eyes, like the waters of a tropical beach, not one of the breed from the elder woods.

“You flatter our House," Warner crooned. "The nobles have their tastes and if I can deliver it, then we will both have some pretty pennies for years to come." 

“You’ve not even tasted it yet, “ Fan sat back, looking about the room. The ironforged golems stationed at the doors looked sturdy. Iron beasts with cold gold eyes, he wondered if they were more to keep them in than others out.

“House Nareem’s reputation precedes you,” the Grandmaster was almost giddy as Fan gestured for one of the stewards to bring the microcask forward.

It tapped smoothly, the loud rush of air from its carbonated pressure sending the brew’s crisp, alcoholic vapor into the space. Inhaled, it could make you as drunk as a glass and the human's cheeks flushed as he inhaled deeply.

A white gold color, it was true elven mead, brewed from honey produced in the elder woods and imbued with a touch of what Fan liked to call “moon magic” during the final conditioning. It was almost as crisp as a melomel, but with a wealth of subtlety that only a honey infused by Nareem’s bees could create. 

Small tasting cups, blown by the House’s glassmiths, were brought forward. The crystal-clear globes magnified the bubbles within the brew, scintillating light lending to the mead’s story as Fan wove it for the Grandmaster.

“Amazing,” Warner couldn’t wait, sipping before they even reached the swirl of the tasting ritual to smell the aromatics. “Oh, it is worth the platinum, surely!”

“It is, but the platinum doesn’t appear to translate to us,” Ardale interrupted, frowning as he shared one of the supply contracts with Fan. The numbers were stingy, indeed. 

“Oh, the storage is difficult, my lords." Warner dithered. "To hold it in the peak of perfection until the precise moment of purchase is not easily come by in these parts, despite the deepest cellars. We’d need a mage and diligent management…” 

“All of which should translate to the price your buyers pay.” Ardale sniffed. 

“Brighton is affluent, but there are limits,” Warner greedily downed the rest of his cup. “We’ve the port, but still haven’t the finances of one of the capitals.”

Ardale cast Fan a look. It was always the same, the humans crying over lack of funds with their typical shortsightedness.

“Still, Nareem does not exist on charity." Fan gave a sorrowed shrug, gesturing for the stewards to take the cask away. “There are others who can pay.”

“Wait! Wait, my lords.” Warner looked almost panicked before he covered it up. “The Count is most insistent. He is planning a fete that must be incomparable.”

“There is still the pipe herb,” Fan gestured again. The steward fetched a small, intricately carved casket. Lifting the lid, the elf pulled a long platinum pipe from within. Decorated in elven sigils about the bowl, it was also a thing of beauty. Packed with a small amount of the rare tobacco, Fan tucked the stem between his lips. He sparked it with a snap of his fingers, a bit of showing off, a bit of ease to not have to bother with tinder or match. 

Inhaling to start it, he passed it to the Grandmaster, the human’s avarice almost comical. Letting the smoke out in lazy rings, Far watched with a friendly smile, Warner’s eyes dilating in pleasure as he drew on the proffered pipe. 

“Ah… Sublime!” It was a stream of smoke riding the man's breath as the Grandmaster's gaze glazed. 

“Indeed, and worth every platinum,” Fan casually plucked the pipe from the human’s lax fingers. He took a long, deep draw, finishing the bowl, before passing it back to the steward to be placed back in the casket. 

“Wait! Wait!” Warner couldn’t react fast enough as the box was whisked away like the cask. “My Lords, allow me to consider!”

“Ardale?” Fan looked back at the financier. 

“The minor contracts are agreeable, but the prices for the luxuriates are lacking.” Ardale’s eyes danced again, and Fan almost winked before giving a dramatic sigh. 

“My dear Grandmaster, I am sorry. Our travels have been exhausting and we surely need to find a proper inn and housing before we continue on our way.”

“Fanathar, you must give us time! And the chance to offer you a taste of Brighton’s hospitality,” Warner hastily added. “We would surprise you, I think. You and your companion.” It was almost a question. 

But Fan perked up, ignoring the inquiry.

“What kind of hospitality are we speaking of?”

“The best,” Warner hastened to signal his own man. “We have our own brews we would share. While not as refined, they can kick like a dragon. And we have something else, something you would appreciate,” he added giving a loud clap. 

“Oh?” Fan’s eyes shifted at the motion of the hall's doors opening. 

The maiden who hurried in was a willowy blonde with high, pointed ears. Sultry amber almond eyes took one look at him and he couldn’t help his smile as she blushed prettily at his own beauty. 

“The Count appreciates all forms of elven… artistry, Lord Fanathar.” Warner gestured the girl closer as Fan and Ardale stood. “Perhaps you would care to taste and ensure their authenticity for us?” Two more maidens peered from the doorway and Fan’s smile turned sly. 

“I think it is only fair, dear Warner,” he gave the girls a shallow bow, never taking his eyes off of them. “You will have your time, as I think it will take us more than one night to properly assess your investments.”

The Grandmaster beamed. “Excellent! I will speak with the Count tonight.”

“You do that.” Fan reached out a hand and linked fingers with the beauty before him. “I believe I-“ there was a discreet cough from Ardale. “ _We_ are at your disposal, my dears.” 

They left Warner and the hall behind, the stewards returning to watch the caravan as Fan tended to other business matters. 

  
  



End file.
